


Quasi una Fantasia

by Lynchy8



Series: Fun (and sad!) little drabbles [29]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Plugs, Anal Sex, Caning, Collars, D/s, Dom/sub, M/M, Marking, Moonlight Sonata, OT3, One Shot, PWP, Piano Kink, Smut, Spanking, Sub!taire, dom!Ferre, sub!jolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4684394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynchy8/pseuds/Lynchy8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Combeferre had fallen in love with Grantaire’s fingers as they had flown about the keys of the honky-tonk piano in the back of the Musain. And moments like this reminded Combeferre of that."</i>
</p>
<p>Shameless smut where Combeferre tries to impress upon Grantaire the importance of time signatures, Enjolras is a brat, and the piano stool is very useful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quasi una Fantasia

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this is 100% the fault of Sarah and Claire.  
> So blame (thank) them, because without them, this would never have happened.
> 
> I believe I have tagged everything, although there is a reference to breathplay but there isn't any breathplay in this, but I'd rather mention it than not.

Combeferre loved Grantaire. He loved Enjolras too, of course he did. They were both the centres of his turning world and he adored them absolutely and completely.

But right now, sitting beside Grantaire at the grand piano that took up a whole room in the house the three of them shared together, Combeferre really felt the full force and depth of his feeling for the man beside him.

R was wild and passionate, and this translated through his fingers into his music. Before all of this, before their first tentative kiss and their first date, before their first tumble into bed together and their wining and dining and oh-so-successful seduction of Enjolras so that their happy two become an ecstatic three; before collars and handcuffs and personalised paddles… Combeferre had fallen in love with Grantaire’s fingers as they had flown about the keys of the honky-tonk piano in the back of the Musain. And moments like this reminded Combeferre of that.

Grantaire’s improvisation was exceptional; he had music flowing through his veins and Combeferre found it addictive. Grantaire had a way of playing anything by Liszt with complete flair but total accuracy, and his rendition of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue had been responsible for the first time they had fucked on the piano, something Combeferre had never thought they would do because his baby grand was the third love of his life and woe to anyone who damaged it in any kind of way. But it had happened nonetheless, Grantaire bent over the long curved body, his fingers leaving prints in the glossy surface as he gasped and moaned and cried out Combeferre’s name as Ferre fucked into him hard and fast.

But then Combeferre had entreated R to play some Chopin, anticipating how much joy was to be found in Grantaire’s clever fingers running over the keys as they translated Fantaisie Impromptu; which was how Combeferre found out that Grantaire had an appalling sense of timing.

He supposed it must be linked to the guy’s hatred of maths, how the notes fitted together in the stave and how each bar needed to be resolved. R trod a very fine line between artistic interpretation and just flat-out ignoring the time signature. Einaudi’s Le Onde was a perfect example; Grantaire would start out steadily, but then would get faster and faster as the piece progressed until he played his quavers almost at the speed of demi-semi-quavers. 

Which had brought them to this point, the pair of them sitting down for the afternoon at the piano. Grantaire was feeling particularly subby that afternoon, sitting at Combeferre’s feet and craving touch and attention. He said he wanted to be good for his Sir, but he didn’t want Ferre to make it easy for him, and so Combeferre had ordered him to strip down to his boxers while he mulled over a few ideas. 

He decided to make it into a game, giving Grantaire incentive to keep to the established tempo, rather than let his wild fingers run away from him. Combeferre set out the rules, made Grantaire use his words and run through his signals – green for go, yellow for slow down, red for stop – and then they had sat at the piano and Combeferre had set up the metronome.

Scales were not exactly exciting but they were a very necessary and useful exercise. They were good for dexterity, for agility and for building up strength especially in the fourth and fifth fingers. But most of all they were excellent for practising a steady rhythm and control. Combeferre sat beside Grantaire, their thighs pressed together, running his fingers over his darling boy’s neck as he gently fastened the clasp of his collar and kissing him tenderly. Then he set about instructing R to run through the full octave of scales. 

They started with the major scales, up and down all four octaves, followed by the harmonic minors and the melodic minors. Then they moved on to chromatics. Combeferre kept his focus on Grantaire, stopping him every time his rhythm broke away from the steady beat of the metronome. He made a note of each pause before gently encouraging Grantaire to start again. For every mistake, Grantaire would earn one spank. All Grantaire had to do was be good for his Sir, stay in rhythm with the metronome and do as he was told.

It was actually really nice, sitting calmly beside Grantaire, watching the man’s face as he frowned in concentration, determined to stay in time. Combeferre took the opportunity to really look at his boyfriend; the line of his jaw, the shade of his scruff and the downward curve of his neck, stark against the leather collar. Combeferre smiled to himself, enjoying the sharp possessive sensation that collar stirred in him. Grantaire was his, wore his collar, and Combeferre loved him dearly. 

By the time they had finished the arpeggios, Combeferre could see that Grantaire was tiring a little, eyes glazed slightly from going up and down the keys over and over. He had earned himself twenty-three spanks which was actually very impressive, and Combeferre praised him for being so good, running his hands through Grantaire’s hair and kissing him softly, breathing in the warm scent of his boy and giving in to the desire to sink his teeth into R’s neck, leaving a mark just above his collar. Grantaire whined beautifully and Combeferre wanted nothing more than to take his darling boy right there and then. With a deep breath, Ferre pulled back, keeping his hand on R’s neck to centre him, running his thumb over R’s jaw.

Combeferre checked the time. Enjolras would be home any minute and that gave him an idea. With a bit of patience this already lovely evening could end up being spectacular. So he murmured soothingly into Grantaire’s ear, promising him that he would take good care of him, that he’d been so good for Ferre so far, so what’s say they play a piece together for when Enjolras got home. Then Enjolras could play too.

When Enjolras got home, assuming he wanted to play with them, then Combeferre would have him strip down to his trousers and put him on his knees. He would have Enjolras wear his collar; Ferre loved seeing both his boys wearing their collars and looking up at him because they were his and he was theirs and he really couldn’t wait for Enjolras to get home.

So it would be a game. He would order Enjolras to crawl under the piano and sit at Grantaire’s feet. It was a competition with a prize for the winner. Grantaire, building on their work this afternoon, would play through Moonlight Sonata, making a real effort to keep to the time signature, keep that left hand steady as it rolled through the quavers. Enjolras’s task was to suck Grantaire off, putting his mouth to excellent use. If Grantaire could make it through the whole piece before Enjolras made him come, then he could fuck Enjolras over the piano stool. However, if Enjolras made Grantaire come first, then Enjolras would get to fuck Grantaire over the piano stool. 

Enjolras had appeared to be on board with the idea, sinking to his knees, preening as Combeferre fastened his collar, and then doing as he was told, crawling under the piano and situating himself at Grantaire’s feet. He knelt up so he could get his mouth on Grantaire, tugging down the guy’s boxers and licking his lips before taking R’s cock into his mouth.

Grantaire started playing and Combeferre took the opportunity to watch the delicious scene before him. Grantaire was chewing his lip, occasionally inhaling sharply as he tried not to wriggle on the piano stool while Enjolras, always beautiful on his knees, sucked him steadily. Ferre’s mouth was watering at the sight. He wasn’t sure who he wanted to “win”; R would be taking his spanking first either way, so he would either be fucking into Enjolras, with his own arse cherry red and sore while Enjolras whimpered and shuddered beneath him. Or else he would be sighing and gasping at each thrust, Enjolras’s thighs slapping against his freshly spanked behind, sensitive from being sucked off. And then maybe Combeferre would have both of them suck him off, or maybe he’d fuck…

He snapped himself out of his day dream as Grantaire started the last page of the piece. Normally Grantaire was very vocal when he was being sucked off, especially if he was trying not to come. And he _should_ have been trying not to come, should have been whining and squirming and breathing hard, but he wasn’t. His fingers moved smoothly over the keys and he was still concentrating on keeping in time with the metronome, as opposed to not being distracted by the little blond thing between his legs. Which meant only one thing.

“Enjolras!” he barked. Grantaire’s playing jerked to a shocked halt, surprised by Combeferre’s sudden raised voice. Enjolras peered out from under the piano, looking up at Ferre with wide eyes, knowing he’d been caught. Ferre huffed at him in annoyance, pointing at his feet. Enjolras obediently crept over to where Ferre indicated, dropping into rest position. Ferre fisted his hand in Enjolras’s curls, firmly raising his head to look him in the eye.

“Would you say, hand on heart, that you were doing your best just now?” Combeferre enquired, voice back to a dangerously quiet level. 

“No, Sir,” Enjolras answered honestly, with grace enough to look slightly abashed. There was a beat of silence and Ferre’s eyes flicked over to where R was watching with wide eyes, and he felt a stab of annoyance because it had been a nice afternoon and now Enjolras had been a brat, had tried to manipulate the scene to get his own way. But Enjolras knew the rules; if he didn’t like something, or didn’t want to do something, all he had to do was say. 

So he sent Enjolras off to the bedroom to fetch the cane. Fifteen strokes, and then Combeferre hoped to be able to salvage the scene, to treat R as he deserved to be treated, and for the day to end in the way Combeferre wanted; with everyone fucked out and happy in their bed.

Enjolras might be a brat, but he was very good at demonstrating to Combeferre that he could be good when taking a punishment. He returned to Ferre on his knees, and his hands were steady as he held out the cane, eyes lowered demurely. Combeferre felt a chill run up his spine as Enjolras stepped back, buttons on his fly and shucking his trousers down his thighs. He stepped out of them neatly before picking them up and folding them properly, placing them to one side with the rest of his clothes like he knew was expected of him.

While Enjolras sorted himself out, Combeferre put Grantaire in the rest position to his left, kissing his forehead and tugging gently at his collar. A little bit of anticipation would do him good; he knew he had a spanking coming, but first Enjolras needed to be dealt with. 

Combeferre balanced the weight of the cane in his hand, enjoying the smooth wood against his fingers. When he looked up, Enjolras was bent over the piano stool, hands resting on the sides, back bowed beautifully and arse presented. Combeferre smiled at his bratty boy, reaching out to smooth his back with a comforting hand. Touch was so important between the three of them. His hand moved from the small of Enjolras’s back down the camber of his arse, fingers tracing the crease lightly.

“Oh, Enjolras,” he sighed warmly, stepping back and setting his feet shoulder-width apart. “You are going to count each one nice and loud for me, and thank me after each stroke.”

“Yes, Sir,” Combeferre could see Enjolras trying to breathe, to relax before the first blow.

Combeferre’s attention zeroed down to the task at hand, to the swing of his arm, the swish of cane through air and the delicious snap as it landed perfectly across both pert, pale cheeks. There were two gasps; one from Enjolras who remained obediently in position, and one from Combeferre’s left. Combeferre didn’t take his eyes from the boy in front of him. 

“One, thank you, Sir,” Enjolras called out into the room, not raising his head. Combeferre brought the cane down again, a second red line appearing beautifully parallel to the one above it. It was exhilarating, how Enjolras bent so beautifully for him, presenting Combeferre with this gift, his obedience and submission as Ferre brought another hard stroke down on his arse. 

Enjolras’s voice remained steady as he counted out “three, thank you, Sir” and so it continued; the swish of the cane, the crack of the wood against flesh, a soft gasp and huff of breath in the otherwise quiet room and then Enjolras’s voice cutting through the silence.

At the tenth stroke, Enjolras stamped his right foot. His eyes were scrunched shut and there was a short pause before he spoke. The stroke had been right across his sit spot, which meant the final five would be across the tops of his thighs. He didn’t straighten up; Enjolras knew better than that, knew it would earn him more, and besides it was a matter of his personal pride to be good for his Sir and to take his stripes with good grace. All the same, Combeferre tapped Enjolras’s thigh in warning; Enjolras wasn’t to move until Comebferre said his punishment was complete. One more movement out of position and he would earn another round. 

“Grantaire,” Combeferre still didn’t take his eyes off Enjolras, captivated by the picture before him. “Go into the bedroom and get two bottles of lube. Also fetch the blue plug.” 

He heard Grantaire’s murmured “yes, Sir,” and was distantly aware of him moving away in the direction of their bedroom. Combeferre took a deep breath, feeling centred and calm.

“Enjolras, the next time you do not wish to play a game with Grantaire and I, what are you going to do?” he ran the tip of the cane across the delicate skin at the tops of Enjolras’s thighs, firm and as yet unmarked.

“Use my words, Sir,” Enjolras spoke, voice slightly thickened.

“Good boy,” Combeferre smiled. “You don’t need to count these last five, Enjolras.”

The cane swished through the air, easy and sure in Combeferre’s grip as he concentrated on delivering the last five strokes just as neatly and efficiently as the first ten. After each blow, Enjolras hissed and whimpered, the pain beginning to get through, but he stayed put, feet firmly on the floor, back bent and head lowered. Combeferre could see Enjolras’s knuckles were white from holding the piano stool. 

Finally, Combeferre set the cane aside on top of the piano, instructing Enjolras that he could straighten up, but he wasn’t allowed to rub. He couldn’t help but smile as Enjolras’s fingers twitched because yeah, he definitely wanted to rub the sharp nasty sting away from his fresh stripes.

Grantaire was back with the lube and the plug. Enjolras eyed his Sir with wary suspicion as Combeferre approached him, the cogs of his mind whirring because he knew that, even though he’d taken his punishment, there was absolutely no way Combeferre was about to give him the fucking that he wanted. That wasn’t how Ferre worked. Enjolras would be extremely lucky to come tonight, never mind get fucked, and he knew it. What’s more, Ferre knew that Enjolras knew it.

Of course Combeferre wasn’t going to give his bratty boy his way. He handed Enjolras one of the bottles of lube and the plug before instructing him to open himself up, to take his time because Ferre didn’t want Enjolras to hurt himself, would never want that. So Enjolras had to do a thorough job of it and then fit himself with the plug. And once he was done, he was to kneel down and wait. Enjolras chewed his lip for a moment, looking up at Combeferre uncertainly, wondering where all this was going. But his arse was still stinging, reminding him that he didn’t need to think, he just had to trust, and obey. And he completely trusted Combeferre to take care of him and give him what he needed, even if he was in disgrace. So he set down the plug and squeezed out a generous amount of lube onto his fingers.

Part of him wondered whether he was supposed to be putting on a show for Grantaire and Combeferre, making it good for them, watching him with his fingers up his arse. But he found out fairly quickly that the others weren’t even paying attention to him.

Combeferre was back at the piano stool, guiding Grantaire over his lap and tugging down his boxers, baring him for his spanks earnt over the afternoon. He was murmuring praise, petting Grantaire’s hair, showing Enjolras what happened to good boys who tried their best. Combeferre’s hands were tender, even when doling out a spanking. It was one of Enjolras’s favourite things, to be turned over that knee and spanked. He liked sitting in board meetings at work with an arse still sore from a spanking the night before, knowing that while the professionals around him droned on and on, he was wearing his Sir’s handprints beneath his suit, and that beneath his starched shirt collar were pale marks from where Ferre had tugged hard on a different collar altogether.

But right now all he could do was continue pressing his fingers into his hole, not able to get deep enough at this angle, as he watched Ferre hold R down over his knee and deliver the first spank. Grantaire shuddered and let out a small whine. Ferre rubbed his hand over where a smart red handprint had already appeared, before delivering another.

Enjolras couldn’t take his eyes off the two men in front of him. All of Combeferre’s attention was on the man over his knee, hand spanking down steadily and rhythmically as R squirmed and whined while Ferre’s gentle voice counted out the smacks of his hand. Enjolras, frustrated and disappointed at being left out, let out a whine that had nothing to do with fingering himself. Combeferre’s head snapped up.

“Unless you want a hair brush spanking over those stripes, I suggest you concentrate on the task I gave you,” Combeferre fixed him with a stern expression, and Enjolras continued to stretch himself, feeling sulky and frustrated. Finally, he was ready enough to take the plug, so he bent forward, pressing it into himself, hissing at the burn and stretch. The plug wasn’t huge but it wasn’t small either. It filled him but didn’t reach his sweet spot, just built on his feelings of disappointment, knowing that in all likelihood this would be all he’d be getting tonight. 

Combeferre smiled as Enjolras settled back down on his knees in the rest position, having obediently opened himself up and fitted the plug as requested, with only a small amount of pouting and just the one warning. Maybe his sweet brat was finally starting to learn. Meanwhile, Grantaire’s steady weight over his knee felt good, as did the press of his boy’s hard cock against his thigh. Grantaire was whimpering, not struggling exactly, but his legs were twisting against the boxers bunched at his knees as Combeferre spanked him. Twenty-three wasn’t really a lot, not if he wanted the message to stick, and so Ferre made sure to make them count. 

Once he finished, he left R over his knee, rather than gathering him up into his arms as he usually did after a spanking. He ran his hands over R’s punished backside and the milky skin of his waist, up and down between his shoulder blades, all the time keeping his touch gentle and soothing. Then his hand dropped back down to Grantaire’s reddened cheeks, tracing between them to brush against R’s hole, and Ferre felt him shudder against his thigh.

“Going to open you up, my darling boy,” Combeferre murmured, his touch teasing and light so that Grantaire would know his intention, but would also have to chance to say no or call a colour if he needed to. Grantaire, who wasn’t really a fan of pain, but loved Combeferre’s spankings - loved being close over his Sir’s lap, clinging onto Sir’s legs while a fire was lit on his rear, loved the feeling of being exposed and vulnerable and absolutely in Ferre’s control - whined his consent and nodded, huffing out a whispered yes, because if there was one thing better than being bent over Combeferre’s knee with his arse bared for a spanking, it was being bent over Ferre’s knee with his arse bared so that Ferre could open him up ready to be fucked.

Grantaire groaned as the first finger breached him, and he wriggled and pressed back, wanting more, not an easy thing when Ferre’s left hand was still pressed firmly into the small of his back, holding him down. _God_ , but R loved being held down. Enjolras had once held him down over a table while Combeferre had fucked him from behind, and then they’d swapped places, R loose and still filled with Combeferres’s cum when Enjolras had pushed inside. R had felt filthy and used and owned, and had loved every single second of it. It was the same now, the pressure on his back keeping him down while Ferre’s clever fingers stretched him open.

His arse was tingling from his recent spanking, but his guts were thrilled with anticipation of what was coming next, of being fucked by his Sir and on their piano stool where they had sat all afternoon, Sir patiently trying to make him better, to improve his skill. And so he writhed contentedly as two fingers became three, groaning loudly as Ferre teased his prostate. His hips pressed down into Ferre’s lap in a vain attempt to get some relief for his aching cock, earning himself a playful smack on his tender cheeks, reminding him to behave. 

But then Ferre was gently tugging R back up, framing his boyfriend’s face in his hands, still warm from the spanking he’d just given. R straddled Ferre’s thighs, leaning into his Sir’s touch, sighing softly when Ferre kissed him. The kiss quickly turned filthy, Ferre coaxing his boy’s mouth open, biting down on R’s lower lip and enjoying the gasp it produced. 

Ferre was talking, murmuring loud enough for the sound to carry over to where Enjolras was still kneeling obediently, watching with wide eyes and chewing on his lip in an effort to keep silent. Ferre told Grantaire how good he was, taking his spanking so nicely, how pretty his arse looked when covered in Ferre’s handprints; how Ferre loved it when his boy was squirming happily over his knee and the delicious sounds he made when Ferre got him ready for Ferre’s cock. 

While he was talking, Combeferre turned Grantaire around, pulling him flush to his chest, still muttering in his boy’s ear, whilst pausing every so often to nip at his ear, or bite at the corded tendons of his throat. He thumbed over Grantaire’s nipples, rocking his hips up and generally teasing the oversensitive boy in his arms. He was still fully clothed, cock hard in his pants, and the fabric of his jeans must have felt rough against Grantaire’s tender behind, which just made him rock up a little harder, delighted with all the noises his boy made. 

“Come on, sweet boy,” Combeferre’s voice was breathless, “bend over the piano stool for me. Going to fuck you now, like I know you need it.”

In a matter of moments they were both on their feet, Grantaire resuming the position Enjolras had been in quite recently, while Combeferre took his time removing his shirt, unclipping his belt and sliding it out of the loops. Enjolras licked his lips, for a moment his mind filled with the image of Combeferre snapping that belt across R’s thighs, but then Combeferre turned, advancing on Enjolras, and he felt his heart pound in his chest.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre’s voice was deep and warm. “Stand up and turn around, hands behind your back.”

Enjolras leapt to obey, turning to the wall and crossing his wrists at the small of his back, mind blanking as he trusted his Sir, happy to let Ferre do whatever he wanted. Then tender hands were touching him and leather was being wrapped around his wrists, binding him beautifully. Enjolras closed his eyes because Combeferre’s breath was hot on the back of his neck and then there were kisses being pressed at the sensitive spot behind his ear and down along his jawbone, and Enjolras ached with want and need. Combeferre was touching him, biting his shoulder, pulling on his bound wrists so that Enjolras could feel the stretch in his arms. _God_ , but he loved the way Combeferre just seemed to envelope him completely, consumed him until all Enjolras could do was say yes and please, and moan Combeferre’s name.

He moaned it now, or at least managed to huff the last syllable as Ferre’s hand rubbed over Enjolras’s stripes before gripping his hip and turning him back around. He kissed Enjolras just once, before pushing him back down onto his knees and walking back to the piano to fetch the cane. Enjolras’s mind was completely blank as his Sir returned, looking up with slightly unfocussed eyes. 

“You’re going to hold the cane, Enjolras,” Combeferre pressed the cane into Enjolras’s hands where they were curled behind his back. “You will hold it, and not drop it, and be such a good boy while I’m fucking R over at the piano. And you’re going to watch.”

“Yes, Sir,” Enjolras murmured in agreement.

“And if you drop the cane, I’m going to give you five more stokes.” Combeferre wanted to pull Enjolras into his arms, bite his throat, mark him up and fuck him raw. But he needed to give his boy a chance to be good, and so he kissed his boy’s forehead and left him holding the cane, fervently hoping that Enjolras would be good and do as he was told.

Grantaire was still bent over the piano stool, resting on his forearms and being extremely patient and Combeferre loved him for it. His arse was still red, still warm to the touch when Combeferre ran his fingers over it before dipping between his cheeks to tease at R’s entrance. Not wanting to waste any more time, he took up the lube, kissed Grantaire’s back and, having slicked himself up, he pushed in.

_Fuck_ , Grantaire felt amazing. He took Ferre’s cock absolutely perfectly, letting out a long sigh and sinking his head down onto his forearms as Ferre bottomed out inside him. He was still a little tight, Ferre slowly pulling back before thrusting back in. He repeated the action, moving agonisingly slowly, rolling his hips gently and getting R used to being filled, before stepping things up a gear.

Ferre loved to fuck, loved holding his boys in position and just taking what he wanted. Sometimes he held them down with a hand on their back, or with fingers knotted in their hair. On one memorable occasion he had held Enjolras down by the back of his neck and Enjolras had come completely untouched. 

Right now, he held R firmly by his hips and just fucked him steadily and hard, pacing himself and enjoying every single sound of a Grantaire getting properly fucked beneath him. He buried himself deep and then rolled his hips in a few shallow thrusts, and Grantaire just outright wailed where Ferre was hitting his prostate. 

He chanced a glance over to where Enjolras was still kneeling up, eyes fixed on them and obediently holding onto the cane, being very good indeed and not uttering a sound, his neglected cock hard and aching from the scene played out before him. Combeferre smiled and after one final hard thrust, he pulled out of R completely.

R grumbled, unhappy at suddenly finding himself empty, but allowed himself to be manoeuvred round. Combeferre sat down on the piano stool and pulled R onto his lap, guiding him down back onto his cock. Grantaire exhaled sharply, eyes closing and head falling back onto Combeferre’s shoulder, and he felt so good around Combeferre’s cock. Ferre nipped at R’s exposed throat, running his tongue over the leather of his collar.

“En-jol-ras,” Combeferre crooned, gently rocking up into R’s arse. “Come here.”

There was a short pause, and Combeferre could see the effort Enjolras went to in order to move, shuffling forward on his knees, hands still bound behind his back, and right at that moment Combeferre had never felt more proud of him. Yes, Enjolras could be a handful, he forgot himself and pushed back or wouldn’t go down easy, acted out and was bratty, and sometimes it felt like he spent more time over Combeferre’s knee than he did eating hot dinners, but Combeferre loved him completely, especially for moments like this when Enjolras submitted. It was such a gift. 

“You’ve been such a good boy for me, Enjolras, I think you deserve a reward,” Combeferre smiled down at the boy kneeling before him. 

“Would you like to suck Grantaire off?”

Combeferre chuckled as Enjolras eagerly nodded his head, responding that _yes, Sir, he would like that very much indeed, please Sir_. It was adorably funny that the little brat had earnt himself a caning over _not_ sucking R properly, yet now he was begging to be allowed. 

“If you do a good job, Enjolras, and you don’t let go of that cane, then I’ll allow you to come.”

Enjolras practically fell onto Grantaire’s cock. Of course, he had to sit back on his heels so that he didn’t topple over. He hissed and grimaced as they came into contact with his poor backside, no doubt feeling the plug in his arse as well as the echoes from his punishment. But he persevered, taking as much of R’s cock as he could.

R was pressed back against Combeferre’s chest, groaning loudly and finding himself surrounded by the most amazing sensations. There was Combeferre at his back, his Sir holding him firmly at the waist and fucking up into him, and then there was the delightful wet warmth of Enjolras’s mouth around his cock. He was completely lost in pleasure, feeling oversensitive and overstimulated. He was breathing harshly, not sure whether to move his hips backward or forward. 

Enjolras looked divine, mouth wrapped around R’s cock, sucking as much as he could, given that his hands were still behind his back. His large blue eyes looked up at Combeferre, trusting and content, and Combeferre could hear his soft noises over Grantaire’s breathy sounds. 

This, this was what Combeferre had wanted; both his boys being so good for him, wearing their collars, submitting to him, trusting him, while he enjoyed them. A sharp jolt of desire shot through him and he found himself thrusting up harder and faster. He reached round wrapping his hand round the base of R’s cock, just as Enjolras pulled back to suckle and tease at the tip. It was all sound and heat and movement between the three of them, gasping and whimpering and groaning as they fucked in tandem. 

Combeferre could feel his orgasm building, and quite honestly Enjolras could have dropped the cane right at that moment and he would have forgiven him. But Enjolras didn’t. Enjolras doubled his efforts, hollowing his cheeks, and then Grantaire howled loudly, collapsing back against Combeferre’s chest as he came. Enjolras managed to swallow most of it, just a dribble of cum at the corner of his red mouth, and then Combeferre was coming, thrusting up hard and biting down on R’s already purpling throat.

He watched as Enjolras sat back, breathing hard and wincing slightly. He was hard but still being good, keeping position and waiting for his next instruction and Ferre needed to hug him immediately. He gently prodded at the fucked out Grantaire on his lap, whispering soft, tender words in order to coax him off his lap. Grantaire went grumbling, sinking down onto the floor and leaning against the piano stool, eyes still closed.

Then Ferre was wrapping his arms around Enjolras, pulling him up and tight against him before taking Enjolras’s cock in his hand. Enjolras hissed and whined at the contact, thrusting into Combeferre’s hand. 

“Come on, little one. So good for me. You can come now, show me how good you are and come for me,” he coaxed, moving his hand faster and faster. He bit down on the leather collar at Enjolras’s throat, tugging it with his teeth, loving how his boy gasped, eyes closing as he suddenly came all over Combeferre’s hand, sinking back into his Sir’s comforting touch. 

Combeferre set about cleaning them up and negotiating his fucked out boys into bed. He massaged Enjolras’s wrists, offered them balm for their sore bottoms, which Grantaire accepted and Enjolras refused. This didn’t surprise Ferre in the least; he knew how precious Enjolras was about his marks. He would make sure to use some arnica on him tomorrow night, but for now he was happy just to hold his good boys in his arms. Both had protested at the suggestion they should take their collars off, and so they lay together in bed, all three of them smiling and fucked out, and Combeferre couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

**Author's Note:**

> So, if anyone else has fallen into this OT3 pit of doom, please feel free to say hi :)
> 
> many thanks to Sarah for the title to this piece.   
> Also please look up the pieces mentioned in this if you're not already familiar with them, because they're beautiful. 
> 
> Pianist R and Pianist Ferre are my favourites.


End file.
